


When Dreams And Life Unite

by Sleepless_Malice



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Affection, M/M, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, The Valar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: Whilst his is the realm of darkness, his brother’s is one of silver light. The air there smells of life, humid and thick with the scent of spices which grow abundantly amidst wildflowers and lush green grass. Sometimes, when the wind carries the salty air of the sea across the land, it reminds Námo of Lórien’s skin, warm and wet and salty, how it is right after those moments which are theirs alone.





	When Dreams And Life Unite

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by an anon message on tumblr " G'day there! Just wanted to tell you I love your Valar fic! I was wondering if you have you ever written Irmo/Mandos or considered writing it? Would you be willing to give it a thought?"

He usually is not aware that was dreaming until emotions and desire stir him awake.

At first, so many thousands of years ago, he was deeply troubled and even more surprised by the strange dreams as he had never heard of any Valar being gifted to dream. But then, he doubted that any other bond was as close and loving as the one he shares with his brother, even if he had heard the rumors whispered on the quiet by many Maiar. He had not believed such gossip, at least not then.

He hadn’t believed the dreams at first, either but quickly enough Námo had learned that those strange dreams are his brother’s not so subtle way to tell him how much he misses him. That Lórien avoids stepping inside the Halls of Awaiting at all costs, Námo already had known back then. To not interfere with those who are reliving their wasted life, Lórien had once said. Not a lie, but not the complete truth.

_‘Because you take great delight to share your screwy little fantasies without restraint with me, that is.’_ Námo had not said it then, there was no need to – they both knew.

After an all too vivid dream, he would follow his brother’s silent invitation to come to his sacred gardens where he could lay down the sorrows of the world, leaving the fallen souls for once in his Maiar’s care.

Whilst his is the realm of darkness, his brother’s realm is one of silver light. The air there smells of life, humid and thick with the scent of spices which grow abundantly amidst wildflowers and lush green grass. Sometimes, when the wind carries the salty air of the sea across the land, it reminds Námo of Lórien’s skin, warm and wet and salty, how it is right after those moments which are theirs alone. It is strange, Námo never fails to mention – when he comes to his brother, he comes clad in the fána of an elf, not as a spirit but even then his skin remains always icy cold.

Veils of silver mist fall around where Námo now stands, followed by the slide of hands over his pale skin, just so as it had been the first time when all of a sudden desire had become too overwhelming to be ignored. That night, as both their bodies were bathed in Telperion’s silver light, decorum finally fell. Although at first, their kisses had tasted of betrayal and guilt, the act of love had brought a cataclysm, and they have been caught in a never-ending spiral. From then on, every night it has been the same: golden goblets scattered, lush grass beneath bare feet, a smoking pipe and carelessly discarded robes.

“Last night you spoke to me in my dreams,” says Námo, being pulled against his brother’s chest. The fact that Lórien is bare beneath his translucent robes does not go unnoticed.

The kiss before Lórien answers him tastes like a promise. “Because I do not wish to talk such pleasantries whilst you are here.”

“Not even if I desire so?” The smile Námo smiles is one of those which are meant for Lórien alone to see.

A wet tongue licks Námo’s still curved mouth. “If time allows I might reconsider.”

All the time in the world is theirs, he is about to say when a hand wraps around his obvious excitement.

“Predictable, as ever,” Lórien laughs. “And so easily swayed. Perhaps I should pass on this information to a couple of those residing in your halls, what do you think?”

Strange visions that do not make any sense flitter through Námo’s mind, his brother’s doing, without doubt.

“You would never share me.” Jealousy is the most infamous and most prominent of Lórien’s traits, revealed only when his eyes are as dark as a starless night.

Arms and legs entangled they sink down onto the lush green grass. “Nor would you.”

Námo does not disagree. Instead, he pulls Lórien on top of him into a straddling position which they have come to learn that they both like best. Cold fingers are scratching heated skin, pinching his brother’s thighs until Námo is content with his brother’s filthy, guttural moan. Now would be the perfect moment to ask for the deepest, darkest fantasies, Lórien’s impatient press of skin tells him that but he does not even ponder this possibility, unwilling and perhaps unable to wait much longer as a kiss muffles the breaking fragments of his moans.

The moment Lórien lowers himself down on his cock, palms flat against his brother’s chest, Námo can neither breathe nor think; he just can focus on the grinding rhythm that Lórien sets. With him, all sorrows vanish, just as the morning mists are chased away by the first rays of sunshine; with him, he is himself as at the beginning of days he had been. That and his brother’s love is the greatest gift of all. When they were young, pure and innocent, and the world was not yet completely formed, their naked spirits often danced amidst the clouds and then their laughter echoed through the lands like chiming bells.

In reality, those days are long gone by, but behind the protecting veil of dreams, Lórien always weaves around them it is as if they still chase each other through the air. In tender affection, of the sort many would say he’s not capable of, Námo cups his brother’s face and kisses him and feels his brother mirroring the movements. Their mental link had always been strong, but now, being so closely, intimately together they exist and feel as one, each one's desire and longing multiplied. In these moments of love and desperate need in their secluded realm of exquisite madness, the world is theirs and theirs alone.

*

Later then, when the hungry flame of initial desire is quenched, Námo caresses his brother’s arm, head pillowed on his brother’s shoulder as finally pleasantries are whispered against his ear and again he smiles, playing with a strand of silver hair.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd - also, this is my first fic in months.


End file.
